


Kinda Weird, But Mostly Fine

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [158]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, First Kiss, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 19:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16165766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Bucky and Steve share their first kiss. Steve gets skittish. Or so Bucky thinks.





	Kinda Weird, But Mostly Fine

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Messiness and markers of arousal (mussed hair; flushed cheeks; swollen mouth; displaying bite marks or hickeys; clothes in disarray; sprawling; come-spattered skin). Prompt from this [generator](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com/promptsnsfw).

They’re 15 when they kiss for the first time, hidden in the shadows of the trees beside the creek. It’s hurried and awkward, more a jamming together of lips than anything that counts as a real kiss, but it makes Bucky’s blood feel like lightning, makes him feel like the ground’s about to swallow him up, but when he gets a hand in Steve’s shirt to push him away, he ends up holding on way too tight.

“So,” Steve says a minute later, his skinny frame quaking just beyond Bucky’s fist. “Ok. We, ah. I should go.”

Bucky nods and opens his hand, leaves the front of Steve’s shirt hot and wrinkled. “Yeah. Ok."

Steve looks at the ground, then up at the sky. "Call me later about geometry?" he asks. "Around seven? My mom’ll be gone. Her shift starts at eight.”

“‘Kay.”

It isn’t bad, that first kiss; it doesn’t upend their normal. Well, not too much, except Steve gets a skittish for a while, starts doing this thing where he blushes when he spots Bucky in the hall, where he’s nervous about coming over when Bucky’s parents aren’t home. They’re still them, though, they still do what they’ve always done: sit together at lunch and hang out at each other’s houses, talk all the time and/or sit in comfortable silence reading or drawing or just listening to music and staring up at the bright, sullen sky. But there’s no repeat of what happened at the creek, that kiss that came out of nowhere, that kiss they’ve been building towards their whole lives, and eventually, Steve seems to exhale. He starts letting their shoulders brush again and stops turning bright red when their knees knock accidentally under the tiny cafeteria tables or in the back of Bucky’s dad’s car when he’s driving them to the movies or home from Bucky’s soccer practice or to the mall in Pemberton where they buy Icees and wander around looking at shit they’ll never buy.

The kiss, Bucky figures as the fall wanes and Christmas passes and the turn of the year comes again, was stumbling block, a inevitable point in their friendship they had to work through and get past. Hell, they’ve known each other all their lives and experienced everything else hand in hand, it seems like; why would a fumbling first shot at a kiss be any different? It was an experiment, a momentary lapse in judgement in the high September sun.

If he dreams about it sometimes, if he has to stop himself from reaching for Steve under the Christmas tree or at the bus stop or in the middle of chemistry, from slinging an arm around his shoulders when they’re studying at Steve’s house, when they’re sitting on the floor of the den with the radio on and Steve’s mom gone and Steve biting at his lip and frowning at volume equations, that’s his malfunction.

If he goes to junior prom with Peggy from the girls’ soccer team and thinks about Steve the whole stupid night, from when they’re dancing to when they’re hanging with her friends to when they’re in the backseat of her car parked behind the old Dairy Queen, his mouth on her breasts and her fingers curled around his dick; if somehow, in her hot little sighs, he hears an echo of Steve’s breath when their mouths broke, when they stood by the creek staring at each other but not letting go, unsure of what they’d just done; if he has to bury his face in her tits when he spurts all over her manicure to muffle a cry in the shape of Steve’s name, that’s his problem, pure and simple, not one he’d ever ask Steve to try and solve.

“How was it?” Steve asks when Bucky gets home, his voice bleary over the phone.

Bucky shrugs out of his jacket, tosses his tie at the floor. “It was fine. Kinda weird at times, but mostly fine.”

“Oh. Well. Come over in the morning--”

“It is morning, punk.”

“--come over _this_ morning, jerk, and we can make pancakes and you can tell me the weird and not weird stuff, ok?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, a rush of warmth in his gut, “ok.”

 

*****  


He doesn’t tell Steve everything. Not about Peggy or Sasha or the girl he works with at the library that summer who tastes like cherry ice when he kisses her deep in the stacks. He doesn’t tell Steve about how much he likes girls, likes their softness, the way they turn up hot like a burner, warming from the center and spreading out in this burn-your-hand glow. He likes that it’s easy with them, that there are no feelings attached--none beyond what feels good in the moment, for him and for them. He likes learning their bodies, likes their confidence when they’re alone, the way they take his hands and put them right where they want them, that they tell him how hard to push, how gently to lick, when to pull out so they can watch him come.

Steve knows, though, that Bucky’s holding something back. He makes little comments about it, unsubtle digs at how Bucky’s social calendar is so full these days, about how lucky Buck is that his dad lets him borrow the car almost every night, about how at this rate all the money he earns this summer will get swallowed up by gas.

They don’t while away the hours together like they used to, like they have every summer before. The summer that Steve turns 16, they see each other every day but sometimes, it’s only in passing: on the sidewalk or in the drive-thru at Starbucks or as they’re leaving church. They still talk every night, though, even when Bucky gets home really late, his pants damp and his fingers smelling of perfume and girl.

“You asleep?” That’s Bucky’s usual greeting.

“I was,” Steve’ll yawn. “Sort of. Crashed out in front of the TV.”

Then one night in late June, he adds: “Spent all afternoon packing. We’re leaving for upstate in the morning.”

Bucky’s gut dips. He sits down hard on his bed. “In the, ah, the morning? I thought you weren’t leaving until next week.”

“It is next week, dumbass.” Steve sounds amused. “Are you, like, unaware of the passage of time?”

“It’s not--I guess I just lost track.”

“Yeah, well, I can see that. You got better things to think about.” A beat. “Speaking of, how was it tonight?”

Bucky scrubs at his face. “Tonight?”

Steve’s voice is a study in nonchalant. “Yeah. Who were you out with again?”

“Uh, Cassandra. Cassie, from work. You don’t know her. She goes to Brooke Point.”

“Huh. Does she have dark hair? Dark and sorta curly?”

“...yeah.”

“Is she kind of short but like super curvy?”

Bucky snorts out a laugh. “‘Curvy’? Seriously, Steve?”

A huff. “Does she have big breasts, I mean?”

“I guess so. Yeah. Why, you writing a book?”

“No, I saw you guys tonight, that’s all.”

Fuck. “Where?”

“Outside the movie theater. Getting into your car.”

He’d kissed Cassie against the car, after the movie. She’d spent the last half hour with her hand in his lap, scratching suggestive at the inside of his thigh, and by the time the credits had rolled, he’d been hard as hell and hungry for her mouth, for more of her touch.

“Hey,” she’d murmured between kisses, his hands pressed to the glass on either side of her shoulders. “We’d better go find a place to park before you come in your pants.”

Had Steve heard him laugh, seen him tip his face into Cassie’s neck and give up a groan as she plucked the keys from his fingers and nudged him away, a sneaky grin on her face.

“Clearly,” she’d said, “you’re in no condition to drive, mister.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Oh, honey,” she’d said with a smirk, “it better be mine.”

“So, ah,” Bucky says to Steve now, his eyes squeezed shut in _oh shit_. “You did, huh? Why didn’t you say hi?”

“I was with Sam and Tony, the guys from jazz ensemble, and they were really ready to go.”

“Oh.”

Steve chuckles. “There was beer in the trunk that was burning a hole in their pockets, if you know what I mean.”

“Ah, huh. Ok.” Since when, Bucky thinks, does Steve hang out with people who drink? “Did you have some?”

Steve makes a weird, _I’m thinking_ sound. “Ehhhhhh, a couple. Not too many. I didn’t get drunk or anything.”

“Ok.”

There’s a long pause. “But something did happen. I wanted to tell you.”

“What?”

“Sam kissed me. After Tony left. When it was just him and me.”

Bucky can’t breathe for a second, can’t fucking see. “He kissed you?”

Steve gives up a dreamy kind of sigh and Bucky wonders if he’s still a little lit. “Yeah. We were in his room. It’s in the basement. Kind of away from everything. We were sharing the last can and he took it out of my hand and leaned over and--boom. Put his tongue in my mouth.”

There’s an ugly curl in Buck’s stomach. “Really.”

“Yeah. And then I kissed him back.”

“Oh. Well. Good for you.” It comes out sharp, a jagged edge even to his own ears, but Steve doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.

“We made out like that, Buck, until I got into his bed. And then--other stuff happened.”

“So are you not a virgin anymore? Is that what you were dying to tell me?”

“I know that you’re not. God, Buck, the whole school knows.”

Jesus. Bucky feels dizzy. “So what?”

“So,” Steve says, a word with some bite, “I wanted to see what it felt like.”

“Yeah? And how did it feel?”

The silence pulls tight between them like piano wire, a tightrope that links one side of their lives to the other.

“The whole time he was going down on me, that he had my cock in his mouth, Buck, I swear: all I could think about was you.”

Bucky feels his mouth moving, but no words come out.

“It felt good,” Steve goes on, “him sucking me, but what got me off was the idea of looking down and seeing your face there, feeling my balls hit your chin, and I came so hard thinking about you, Bucky. I thought you should know that. I wanted to be the one to say.”

“Steve,” Bucky croaks, “fucking Christ--”

A sigh. “Have a good summer, Buck. I’ll see you when we get back.”

“Damn it, Steve, you can’t just--!”

“Bye.”

Bucky sits there in the fading dark, the sky outside turning towards gray, and stares at the phone in his hand. A month. He’s supposed to sit on this for a month? Alone in this crap town without his best friend who he’s been ignoring since school let out, who he’s been avoiding in favor of--what? Easy hookups with girls who don’t ask anything of him except an hour alone and some quality time with his hands and his cock?

And now, and _now_ , Steve’s gone off and found with somebody else the very thing that Bucky’s been aching to give him, that he’s been so sure Steve did not want, and now they can’t even talk about it for a month because Steve’s grandmother’s place upstate has more cows than cell towers and what the hell kind of fuck up is he?

He lays back on his bed furious, fully intending to march over to Steve’s house when the sun comes up to say _what the fuck, Rogers?_  but he falls asleep, wrung out from sex and too many feelings and by the time he wakes up, Steve and his mom are long gone.


End file.
